Ivory Lyre (17 page)

Yes.

I won’t let you go alone; we must not be
separated. Come . . .

Instead of arguing or letting him mount, she
spun fast for her bulk, her teeth bared and her ears laid flat, her
roar heavy with fury. He stepped back with amazement, his arm up to
shield his face, then he saw the horsemen advancing on them from
out of the dark forest: It was them the silver bear faced. As they
circled bear and prince, they threw their leather capes back to
show the yellow uniforms beneath. In the lead rode Captain
Leskrank, General Vurbane, and black-robed King Sardira.

Calm,
Teb thought.
Calm. Put a
good face on it.

Yes, calm, Tebriel. A pet bear, a guard bear
raised in Thedria . . .

“You’re out early,” Teb said. “You’ve
discovered my secret at last. I had thought not to burden you with
my pet.” He grinned. “She is not the sort of animal I would have
brought into the palace with me.”

They sat looking down at him, Sardira’s face
a pale thin moon above black robe and black horse, General Vurbane
like a melted wax figure where the scar made his face run together.
Heavy-shouldered, hunched Leskrank glowered at Teb and the bear,
his waxen face pale and eager with the promise of torture. Twelve
soldiers flanked them, their horses backing and fighting to stay
away from the bear.

“It is not the sort of animal,” King Sardira
said, “that exists in this hemisphere, Prince Tebmund. Tell us how
you came by it.”

“Oh, they exist.” Teb smiled. “We raise them
on Thedria and train them as guard animals. I understand that in
the nations of Windthorst they use winged jackals, but we find the
bears more . . . accommodating. Do not fear her; she is
quite tame unless danger threatens. She has been most obedient
about staying here to herself, in the wood.”

“There are no bears on Thedria,” said
Vurbane. “I have been there. There is no Prince Tebmund,
either.”

“Oh, there are bears,” Teb said lightly.
“There is no Prince Tebmund, of course, for I am here.”

Vurbane looked annoyed, a drawing-back deep
within his cold eyes; Teb hoped he had been bluffing.

“When were you in Thedria?” Teb asked
lightly. “I do not remember your visit, General Vurbane.”

Vurbane did not answer, but only stared at
Teb, then nodded briefly to King Sardira. Sardira motioned to
Leskrank, a quick, irritated movement. Leskrank raised a hand, and
at once the soldiers spurred their reluctant horses forward, their
swords a circle of steel pointing down at Teb and Seastrider; the
bear reared and charged the horses, clawing one and snatching the
rider from the saddle. Teb’s sword cut down two soldiers as their
horses spun, trying to bolt. He turned to see spears bristling at
the bear as she lunged at Captain Leskrank, spears ready to sink
deep. “No!” he cried. “No!”
There are too many. Fall
back.

She hesitated, and a spear pierced her
shoulder.
Fall back!
At last she dropped to all fours, the
points of a dozen spears pricking her heavy coat.

A rider dismounted and took Teb’s sword and
tied his hands behind him. He tied a long rope around Teb’s neck,
gave Sardira the other end, and kicked Teb in the ankle. “Get
moving.” Teb walked out fast beside the bear. Sardira spurred his
horse so close it nearly trampled Teb, then jogged ahead so Teb had
to run or be dragged. Double-time they went down along the river
past derelict farms, then through the rubbled streets. As they
approached the arena, Sardira jerked Teb to a stop and sat glaring
down at him.

“Tell me why you released my animals, Prince
Tebmund. Why would you do such a thing after we treated you so
hospitably?”

Teb stared at the king and said nothing.

“Who was your accomplice, Prince Tebmund?
Oh, yes, my men saw him; they saw it all from the barracks. They
saw him run away. They came down here to find three of my best
soldiers murdered.”

Teb looked at the king coldly. “I suppose it
is some special privilege for your
best
soldiers, to be
allowed to torture helpless animals.”

The king cut him a look of cold disgust. “I
suppose
you
are some sort of judge. Do you bleed for every
slaughtered sheep on the supper table, Prince Tebmund?”

Teb only looked at him.

“You don’t imagine,
Prince
Tebmund,
that I believed your story about coming here only to sell horses.
Whom
do you spy for,
Prince
Tebmund? Some
gutter-based cadre of self-made rebels itching to be slaughtered by
my armies?”

Teb stared in silence, up into Sardira’s
cold, black eyes.

“Well, your tale about trading horses will
be honored,
Prince
Tebmund—if you are a prince—but your
payment will not be quite what you planned. It will be payment to
match the intent. . . .”

Teb looked the king over coldly, then spat
on the sword and shouldered it out of his way as another blade
probed his back. He sauntered through the gate beside the ambling
silver bear, his fury so hot his blood throbbed like drums.

. . . to advantage,
Seastrider was saying.
Go easy, Tebriel. We will use this to
advantage, I will get my power back. . . . Three
dragons are still free, to help us. . . .

But Teb could not sense the others; there
was no answering surge that showed they were linked by thought.
Nothing.

They were marched the length of the gaming
field and forced into cages. Teb was chained, but no soldier would
enter the bear’s cage. Her door was bolted and locked. Four mounted
soldiers were left to guard them and to prepare them for the
games.

Kiri huddled against a broken wall in an old
stone ruin, sick with pain where the soldier had stabbed her, dizzy
with the loss of blood. She listened for the sound of running feet,
pressing at the wound in her side to stop the bleeding. At last she
knelt, tore a strip off her skirt, and bound the long gash so
tightly she could hardly breathe. She had foolishly left her knife
in the soldier. She hoped he was dead, but she wished she had it
back.

She thought the creature in the arena must
have been a bear; but there were no more bears on this side of the
world. And who was the man with it? Where had he come from, there
in the lonely arena in the small hours of night?

She turned to look up the rubble-strewn hill
and caught her breath. There he was, a black silhouette in the
first touch of dawn, riding the huge bear and followed by a tangle
of fast-moving shapes that she soon made out to be Elmmira, the
other cats, and maybe wolves. It was too dark to see his face. She
wanted to follow, to call out, and knew she mustn’t be seen. If she
was caught out in the open, wounded, they would soon know who
stabbed the king’s soldier. She felt so weak. Even her vision
seemed blurred. She needed shelter, needed someone to help her. She
knew the cats would go to Gardel-Cloor and longed to go with them,
but she mustn’t be seen with them. They would have care at
Gardel-Cloor, rest, and salves for the burns. Marshy was there,
with Summer.

She moved out of the ruined building at last
and on through the rubble, supporting herself against broken walls.
When she felt faint again, she leaned on a partial stair rail, then
sat down on the bottom of three standing steps, her head between
her knees until the sickness went away.

At last the ruins ended. She forced herself
out onto the open streets where a few people were at the cow pens
or emptying dirty water into the gutters. She dared not go home so
close to the palace; a neighbor could report that she was wounded.
She did not want to draw attention to Gram. She didn’t think she
could make it down the steep cliff to Gardel-Cloor.

Only Garit could help her, yet she was
terrified of being followed there, covered with blood. It was true
dawn now, far too light. She caught a woman staring at her, and at
the next corner she snatched a heavy shirt from a fence rail and
slipped it over her tunic. It was still damp from laundering, and
chilly. She felt dizzy again, confused. What street was this? Why
didn’t it look familiar? She leaned against a stone wall, trying to
get her bearings. She thought she was going to throw up; everything
around her seemed smeared and unclear. When a shadow moved nearby,
she froze. Was someone following her? She crouched against a wall,
the pain making her gasp, and searched for shelter ahead. Behind
her the shadow moved again. She caught her
breath. . . .

It was Elmmira. The great cat leaped to join
her, pressing against her. “Come on my back; be quick.”

She slipped onto Elmmira’s back as easily as
she could, trying not to touch the horrible burns, and hot tears
filled her eyes at Elmmira’s pain, that the great cat would do this
when she herself should be cared for. She clung to the rhythm of
Elmmira’s gallop, her nostrils filled with the smell of burnt fur,
two crippled creatures fleeing through the city. A shout behind
them made Elmmira swerve, running flat out. Kiri lay low as they
dodged down a narrow alley and around corners. The jarring sent
jabs of pain through Kiri; then Elmmira leaped so high Kiri barely
stayed with her. They had gone over a fence. When Elmmira stopped
suddenly, Kiri thought they were cornered; then she heard Garit’s
voice.

She felt herself lifted, the pain searing
her.

She remembered nothing more until she woke
with bright sun seeping through the shutters. She was in Garit’s
bed, the covers pulled up warm. Garit sat watching her.

“Where is Elmmira?” Kiri cried. “Did she get
away?”

“She is safe—all the cats are. They are gone
from the city down into Gardel-Cloor, and the poor wolves,
too.”

“But they—”

“No one will find them in the tunnels. There
is power there, Kiri, in the stone.”

“But they need doctoring. The burns
. . .”

“Marshy and Summer are there with them. I
have been down, and taken roots for the salve.”

She started to raise up but pain flared in
her side. She felt the pull of bandages as she settled back into
the pillows. “Did Elmmira tell you what happened?”

“Yes.”

“A man was there in the stadium with a huge
animal—a bear. They killed two soldiers. I might be dead now, but
for them. Who was he, Garit? They didn’t catch him? Did he get
away?”

He put his hand over hers. “Too many
questions. You must rest. The young man escaped on the back of a
great silver bear.”

She sighed. “I might have helped him, I
might have stayed. I knew he would release the cats—why else would
he come? When I felt the knife in me and the blood flowing, all I
could think was, I mustn’t be found there
dead. . . . Because of Papa, that it would link him
to the resistance.”

“Yes, I know, Kiri.”

“But he released the animals? They all got
away? Who was he?”

“He released them all. It was Prince
Tebmund.”

She stared at Garit. “Then he
is
your
Prince of Auric. He
is
Tebriel.”

“There is no real proof of that. Here, drink
this broth. I am roasting a calf's liver for you, for
strength.”

She accepted the bowl of broth and breathed
in its steamy fragrance. She began to sip it, then sucked it in
greedily.

When she had finished, she lay watching
Garit as he turned the roasting liver over a small bed of
coals.

“It may have been Tebriel,” he said. “It may
not.” But his eyes were bright with hope.

Her head began to feel clearer, and she
remembered she had something to tell Garit. “I was coming to tell
you . . . something important. . . but I passed
near Elmmira’s den and saw her in the trap, and
. . .”

“What were you coming to tell me?” he said
gently.

She sat up despite the pain and held out her
hand to him. He came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I listened to Prince Tebmund and Accacia
talking last night. He made her say things, Garit. It was amazing—I
thought he laid a spell on her.” She gripped his hand hard, filled
with excitement. “Do you know why the dark cannot enslave
Dacia?”

“I thought it simply would not. That it
found Dacia a more convenient go-between as it is.”

‘There is another reason.”

He waited.

“The dark
cannot,
Garit. There is a
talisman of power there in the palace, more powerful than
Gardel-Cloor. It is the Ivory Lyre of Bayzun.”

He shook his head. The words meant nothing
to him.

She described the lyre for him, described
the ancient dragon laying his spells. She felt a chill of wonder at
the way the story had come suddenly, whole, into her mind as she
stood peering into the dark garden. It must have come into
Colewolf’s mind at the same moment, and Summer’s and Marshy’s, too.
The spell of forgetting had been broken when one bard sought the
truth. She knew she must be that bard, come to listen, hiding
behind the pierced black screen.

“But,” Garit said, “whether the king was
given the lyre or found it quite by accident, he would not have
known what it was, not known about its power . . . unless
there was some written record.”

“There was a carved tablet, made by the
dwarf who watched Bayzun die. But how Sardira got that tablet, I
don’t know.”

They stared at each other, both filled with
the meaning such power would have, to destroy the dark forces. “We
must have it,” Garit said. “We must have the lyre.”

“Yes.” She lay back, dizzy and weak again,
her mind gone foggy. Then slowly a sense of terrible distress
filled her, so she reached out blindly, clutching at air.

“What is it?
Kiri?”
His face seemed
to swim before her, concerned, frightened. “What is happening?
Kiri?”